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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116129">Bitlets and Drabbles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest'>Ariel_Tempest</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bits of Brain Lint, COVID19, Depression, Essential Worker, Fluff, Gifts, Humor, Missing Scene, Modern AU, Multi, Not Real Stories, Prompt Responses, Romance, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Valentine's Day, quarentine, scenes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:34:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116129</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of completely unrelated short things from my tumblr. Normally these will be scenes rather than full stories, but I feel might be of interest to people here.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Barrow &amp; Phyllis Baxter, Thomas Barrow/Chris Webster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Silly Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Don’t be silly.</i>
</p><p>That’s right, silly old me.</p><p>Silly old me who thought Andrew was avoiding me. All in my head, you told me.</p><p>Silly old me who thought reducing the staff meant me gone. Just being paranoid.</p><p>Silly old me who thinks a parade of botched interviews with mad men and rejection letters means I’m not wanted. That I have no future.</p><p>Are you lying on purpose?</p><p>I can’t tell anymore.</p><p>Work hard. Do your duties well and you’ll be promoted.</p><p>Be kinder. People will like you more.</p><p>You were special to him.</p><p>There are friends out there somewhere.</p><p>Do you all believe it?</p><p>Do <i>any</i> of you believe it?</p><p>Or is it all just some sick joke that you laugh about behind my back?</p><p>Have me do two jobs for months, then hire a cripple who can’t do the work.</p><p>Let me make friends with the new footman, then drive him away by telling him what sort of man I really am.</p><p>Make it out like I’m all but married to someone who’s as much as said he will never write.</p><p>Pretend you believe there’s someone waiting…</p><p>Waiting somewhere conveniently far from here.</p><p>That’s it, isn’t it?</p><p>None of you believe it.</p><p>At best, it’s just a pretty lie to tell yourselves, so you don’t have to think about me. Not really.</p><p>And the worst of you?</p><p>The worst think it’s funny.</p><p>No.</p><p>The worst think I deserve it, for being what I am.</p><p>For being dirty.</p><p>Filthy.</p><p>Revolting.</p><p>Foul.</p><p>Degenerate.</p><p>Someone who shouldn’t exist.</p><p>Who knows?</p><p>Under all the lies, maybe you’re right about that much.</p><p>In fact, you probably are.</p><p>Silly old me who keeps going…</p><p>When really…</p><p>He should just stop.</p><p>And then none of you will have to lie any more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was a bit depressed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Other Side of the Fence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thomas is an introverted essential worker. Chris is an extrovert in lock down. The good news is that they love each other.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas dragged himself up the stairs to his flat and fished out the key. No sooner had he rattled the door knob than it turned of its own accord, the door popping open under his hand.</p><p>“Welcome home, handsome,” Chris greeted him, lounging in the doorway wearing, Thomas was fairly certain, only his bathrobe. The absolutely glorious smell of cooking wafted out into the gathering dusk, which could only mean one thing.</p><p>Chris had been bored out of his mind.</p><p>Buggering hell.</p><p>Thomas stared at him for a moment, trying to scrape together a response, then looked over his shoulder. “Handsome? Who are you talking to?” He looked back and arched an eyebrow.</p><p>“Why, you, of course,” Chris laughed at him, stepping out of the doorway.</p><p>“Sorry, I can’t manage handsome right now. Will hit a by a truck do? I’m about up to hit by a truck.” Stepping through the door, Thomas straight out dropped his lunch box on the floor, shrugged out of his coat, and tossed it in the general vicinity of a nearby chair. It missed. Thomas left it there and toed out of his shoes instead. The only thing that made it onto the coat rack was his mask.</p><p>Christ took in the localized chaos from his normally neat lover and his eyebrows knit worriedly. “Bad day?”</p><p>“There were five fights in the parking lot. Bates nearly got decked twice for telling people to wear masks. Charles wants us to be sure to smile, insisting that customers can see you smile with your eyes.  Despite our best efforts, people keep managing to record things in the store, so now there’s footage going around the internet of some Indian woman calling H a racist because he would only sell her one package of toilet paper.” H’s name was not actually H, of course. His real name was simply long and easily butchered by English speakers, so he went by his first initial instead.</p><p>Chris looked completely baffled. “Um, isn’t H Indian?”</p><p>“Yes. He is.” Thomas did his best to sound as unimpressed as he felt. Then he face planted on the sofa. He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to think. He really didn’t want to think about insanely unreasonable people or the gobsmacked look on H’s face over the whole incident. He didn’t want to think about going back to work the next day.</p><p>The worst part, the part that left him with guilt gnawing away at his gut, was that he didn’t want to be close to anyone. He didn’t want to be touched. He didn’t want to be held. He didn’t want anyone in his space.</p><p>…and that included his wonderful, goofy, extroverted boyfriend who had been cooped up in the flat for the past two weeks and was so bored he had cooked dinner for Christ’s sake. Chris never cooked unless it was a special occasion. Now the entire flat reeked of thyme and oregano and if there wasn’t lasagna in the oven, Thomas would eat his shoes. And all he wanted to do was sleep.</p><p>What was worse, from the look on Chris’s face, Chris knew it. “I made dinner?” he offered, tentatively.</p><p>Thomas tried to dredge up a smile. Really he did. “I know. It smells wonderful.”</p><p>Chris thought a bit. “We could eat it on the sofa? Maybe put on a movie?”</p><p>“A movie sounds loud,” Thomas protested, without any heat. He didn’t have the energy. “I’m sorry, Chris, but I’m beat.”</p><p>Chris started to walk over, then thought better of it, and perched on the chair next to Thomas’s coat. For a long stretch the flat was silent, the two of them watching each other. Finally he suggested, “Why don’t I draw you a nice warm bath? Put some salts in it, put some Chopin or something on the .mp3 player, and you just soak for a bit. Then we can have dinner on the sofa afterwards and, if you feel up to it, we can watch something quiet. No action or chase scenes. Pyrotechnics budget of zero.”</p><p>“Do we have anything like that in the house ?” Thomas asked, managing a small quirk of a smile. Honestly, the only things he could think about were Chris’s action movies and The Great Gatsby, none of which was ‘quiet’.</p><p>Chris thought a moment, then shrugged. “Casablanca?”</p><p>Thomas thought about that. If he’d been asked to watch it right that second, then no. But maybe, after a bath and some food. Maybe then he could handle it. Maybe then he could even just about stand Chris cuddling up to him, as long as the other man didn’t try to start anything. “I might be able to manage it. After that bath, though.”</p><p>“Right, then!” Chris bounced up, the bathrobe flapping enough to confirm that, no, the other man wasn’t wearing anything underneath, except maybe boxers. He headed for the bathroom at a good clip, then slowed and paused in the entrance to the flat’s short hallway. “Thomas?”</p><p>“Mm?” Thomas lifted his head from the cushions.</p><p>Chris had that look he sometimes got, the one that was part innocent little boy, part bedroom eyes. “Could I at least have a kiss first? I’ve missed you, you know.”</p><p>Thomas sighed, but smiled and levered himself out of the sofa. Crossing the room, he reached out and pulled Chris against him, leaning in to brush his lips against the other man’s. Chris’s mustache tickled, as it always did, but Thomas liked that. “There. Bath now?”</p><p>Chris grinned at him. “Bath.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This one was inspired by tuesdayintheservantshall who wanted to see something along these lines...and by a long day at work.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Missing Scene</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A short additional scene that hit me one day.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas leaned against the yard wall and blew a stream of smoke into the air. True, with the Royal Visit over, he was no longer in danger of death by housekeeper for smoking inside, but it was a nice day out and frankly, he needed a break. If there was one thing he had learned from Mr. Carson’s return it was the value of stopping and doing something else for awhile. He’d understood that, back when he was a footman. Well, sort of. At the very least he’d been allowed breaks and he’d taken them as often and vindictively as he could, since it was one of the few luxuries he could have. Now though, being in charge of the household and following in Mr. Carson’s shoes, all too aware of the need to establish his authority and earn respect in a way he’d failed to do the last time he’d been in command of Downton’s staff, he’d been overworking himself, plain and simple. And if he hadn’t been sacked for ticking off Lord Grantham, he certainly wasn’t going to be sacked for taking his smoke breaks outside.</p>
<p>Movement in the corner of his eye alerted him to the fact he wasn’t alone. He shifted his focus to the new comer and found Miss Baxter walking toward him, a parcel under one arm, a bag over the other. He smiled a greeting at her. “Need help with those?”</p>
<p>“No thank you,” she smiled back. “They aren’t heavy. Just a few things I’ve been running low on is all. It’s nice to be able to run out and get them again, now that the fuss is over.”</p>
<p>He saluted her with his cigarette, indicating that he was there for a similar reason. “I couldn’t agree more.”</p>
<p>Still smiling, she headed to the door, then paused. A small crease formed between her eyebrows and she turned to him. “Can I ask you a question?”</p>
<p>Torn between pleasure that she’d been polite enough to ask and shame that she still felt the need, he nodded. “Of course.”</p>
<p>“How exactly did you get rid of the Royal Footmen?”</p>
<p>Oh dear. Maybe he should have said it depended on the question. Racking his brain for an answer that was honest without being incriminating, for both him and Richard, he stalled, “Well, you heard what they said at breakfast. The footmen were called back to London. As a hoax.”</p>
<p>She refused to be put off. “Yes, but how did you manage it?”</p>
<p>“I have my ways,” he hedged. Then seeing no way to get around it completely, he admitted, “I might have had some help.”</p>
<p>“From the King’s Second Dresser?” she asked, her smile turned knowing.</p>
<p>Shit. He hadn’t meant to give that much away. How had he given that much away? “I didn’t say that.”</p>
<p>She eyed him for a moment, her smile going wistful or sad or something along those lines for reasons he couldn’t begin to understand. Finally she said, “No, I suppose you didn’t. Well, whoever it was and however you managed it, it was well done. We’d not have managed without you. And if you chance to see or talk to your accomplice again, give him my thanks as well.”</p>
<p>Thomas slipped his hand into his pocket, running his fingers over the edges of the key ring Richard had given him. Part of him wanted to protest that he’d never said his accomplice was a man, but that was hardly going to fool her, was it? He wasn’t as good at hiding his secrets as he wanted to be. As he needed to be. Maybe he never had been. But with her, maybe he didn’t have to worry quite so much. “I will.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This scene wouldn't have fit in the movie. There wasn't enough time and it doesn't give any information that the audience didn't already have. From an in-world perspective, however, it seems odd that Carson would ask Anna about her part in the Royal Revolt, but <i>no one</i> would ask Thomas about his. So, since fanfiction doesn't have a time limit, we have a little bit of fluffy character development.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Quarentine's Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sequel to "Other Side of the Fence." It's Valentine's, 2021, Thomas is still working retail, and Chris is still bored.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Thomas took a last lungful of smoke and blew it out into the chilly air. Chris would let him smoke in the flat, of course, but he wanted to feel grounded when the other man opened the door. Not like he had been every day for as long as he could remember.</p><p>Things had gotten better, of course, over time. Restrictions had lifted so Chris could at least step out side. Walk around the block a time or two. That sort of thing. And with supply chains getting re-established, there weren't fights over toilet paper anymore, although if he had to yell at someone to put their mask on in the store one more time, he was going to take a few heads off with a cricket bat. It was still far from perfect, far from normal, but things had settled into a sort of routine.</p><p>Unfortunately, it was a routine that was still full of low-grade stress. Despite being able to run errands whenever he pleased, Chris was still working from home, still social distancing, and therefore always somewhat stir crazy. Retail was, by it's nature, a stressful job and could leave Thomas wanting to move to a tiny, private island in the Hebrides and living the rest of his life in solitude on a good day. Hence stopping for a smoke before he walked up the stairs to the flat and was greeted by carefully restrained hyper activity and affection. Once he'd gotten his nerves settled as much as he possibly could, he picked up the shopping bag at his feet and headed toward the door. Rather than faffing about with the key, he just knocked, certain that Chris was waiting for him. </p><p>The door opened before he'd finished the second knock, revealing his boyfriend in a new, plush bathrobe. It was covered in hearts, both printed and embossed, and ended at his knees, leaving little doubt that unless he was wearing boxer shorts, the robe was all he had on. Given similar greetings in the past, Thomas doubted he was wearing boxer shorts. "Well hello there, sexy."</p><p>"Hello there yourself," Thomas smirked, taking in the other man's general appearance, then shook his head. He held out the shopping bag with a, "Happy Valentine's day." He looked at the robe again as he stepped through the door, closing out the cold night air, and asked, "How on earth did you keep that thing hidden?"</p><p>"Under the sofa, next to the one I got you," Chris informed him, all but diving into the bag. "Mmm, very nice," he purred, coming up with the bottle of champagne Thomas had brought home for dinner. There was a box of chocolates as well, but he'd need to set something down before he dug those out. "We can drink this in the tub."</p><p>Thomas stopped, half way through stripping off his overcoat. "The tub?" he asked, staring. "Chris, we can't both fit in that thing."</p><p>"Of course we can!" his boyfriend assured him. "I have it all ready to go. Rose petals, bath salts, candles, the whole nine yards." Thomas might have thought he was joking, but he knew that rakish grin.</p><p>It was a romantic idea, of course, but it couldn't end well. "We'll get water all over the floor!"</p><p>"I'll mop it up, I promise." Chris walked over and wrapped his arms, still holding the bottle and the bag with the chocolates, around Thomas's waist. He then leaned in and nuzzled, like he always did when he wanted something. "Come on, Thomas.  It's not as if I plan on doing anything...intimate. I just want a nice, relaxing, romantic evening before dinner."</p><p>"Dinner?" Thomas asked. He didn't smell anything. "Did you cook?"</p><p>"Mmmm, not yet, but it doesn't take that long to boil lobster," Chris promised. "I can do it while you're slipping into your new robe." In a very husky undertone he added, "And there's dessert..."</p><p>Thomas had known the other man would come up with something big to celebrate the day, if for no other reason than to distract himself from being cooped up and make an excuse to go shopping. Still, he was starting to feel a bit upstaged. "Sounds like I should have bought a second bottle," he huffed. In the end, though, all he could do was relent. After all, it was Valentine's day and what else were they going to do? Go to the Ritz? "Alright, Casanova. Let me get a couple of glasses and I'll meet you in the bathroom."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote a 'from Chris's PoV piece that goes between these two, but I'm not quite happy with it. I may post it here some day.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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